


Acceptance

by ceiland



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceiland/pseuds/ceiland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red gets a little distracted while working. Set pre-game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> I have no justification for this story, honestly. I didn't use a name for the man in the Transistor because there's so many used in fandom that I couldn't choose, and I know people are a stickler for that type of deal.

The sunset drips across the horizon, the last vestiges of daylight streaking the clouds with a smattering of bright pinks. A cool breeze brushes through the balcony, bringing with it the dissonant symphony of city noise. Red brings the eraser of the pencil to her lips idly, frowning at the paper. Songwriting is never easy, but why does it have to be so hard tonight? The page is hardly half full, an unedited scrap of lyrics she doubts she’ll ever get around to setting to music. It feels like the ideas are stoppered up in her head. There’s a certain flow to this kind of thing sometimes, when she really gets into it, like the songs practically write themselves. This is not one of those times.

The balcony door glides open. Red turns from the scattered mess of work, smiles when she sees who it is. He leans in the doorway, arms folded, and there’s a glint in his eyes.

“Hey there. How’s the words coming?” His voice is a more than welcome sound. The breeze catches in his ruffled hair, and his grin is slanted.

“They aren’t.” Red twirls the pencil between her fingers, back and forth and back again, before setting it aside. The grin fades from his face, replaced with a thoughtful pursing of lips. “Huh. Maybe they needed a break, just like _someone_ I could name.” Oh, that’s just unfair. She hasn’t been working that long. It’s only--- okay, so a quick glance at the fading sunset proves that she has actually been working _that_ long. “I’ll be fine.”

He steps over, propping himself up with one arm on the back of her chair. His presence is warmth. “I sure hope so.” Red sinks a bit in her chair, leans her head against his arm. It’s nice to know that he isn’t going to judge her for anything she writes. Acceptance, complete acceptance as they have for each other, is rare; even more so for art in Cloudbank that doesn’t conform to the exacting expectations of the audience’s whims. She takes his free hand, laces her fingers with his. Can feel the roughness of his hand, the calluses on his palm and the scarring on his knuckles. So different compared to her own unworn hands. She likes to marvel at the contrast sometimes, or maybe she just really likes holding his hand. “Do you want to order food?”

Even if she can’t see it, she knows his face lights up. “Red, if I ever _don’t_ want to order food, I’m an impostor. Don’t fall for it.” Red pulls her hand away and starts organizing the papers strewn across the table, the corner of her mouth perking up.


End file.
